


Saved by the Snow

by hazelNuts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Stiles, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8821645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelNuts/pseuds/hazelNuts
Summary: Stiles' car breaks down just when a snowstorm is about to hit Beacon Hills. The only place he can go for help is Derek's which just happens to be the last place he wants to go, considering how things between him and Derek are.
  Stiles slams the steering wheel with his fist, grinding his teeth at the pain that shoots through his arm. Of-fucking-course his car breaks down here instead of a mile back when he’d still been in walking distance of his apartment, or a mile down the road, where there’s a gas station. 
  
  Maybe it’s karma for cutting in line at the coffee shop when he was running late this morning.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [a-beta-in-the-sterek-pack]()  
> I hope you like it!

Stiles slams the steering wheel with his fist, grinding his teeth at the pain that shoots through his arm. Of- _fucking_ -course his car breaks down here instead of a mile back when he’d still been in walking distance of his apartment, or a mile down the road, where there’s a gas station.

Maybe it’s karma for cutting in line at the coffee shop when he was running late this morning.

No, it can’t be karma, because depriving someone of their caffeine does not make him deserving of breaking down, in the cold, with Derek’s house being the only one for almost a mile in either direction. _Fuck that_. He’s not going to knock on Derek’s door, looking like a frozen kitten to ask for help.

Stiles shoves open his door and steps onto the road, gasping as the cold air bites into his cheeks. He fumbles the hood of the Jeep open with his gloved hands, and stares at the engine. It looks fine. There’s no smoke coming from it, so that’s a good sign. Probably. And the heater still works, so he won’t freeze to death if he just waits in his car for a tow truck.

He pulls off one glove with his teeth, and dives his hand into his pocket to pull out his phone. The cold is quick, and has already stiffened his fingers, making his movements awkward.

‘Come on,’ Stiles mutters, swiping a finger over the screen to unlock it. He swipes too hard and the phone goes flying out of his numbing hand, landing on the asphalt with a _crack_. ‘Come _on_!’ He picks up his phone, tapping the screen and buttons one at a time, then at the same time, but the phone stays dead.

Stiles looks ahead to where a dirt road splits off into the preserve, to Derek’s place, then he looks at his car. He could wait for another car to pass, but there’s no telling how long that will take, and the clouds are starting to look grey and fluffy and heavy with snow. The Jeep’s small and unreliable heater might not keep him warm long enough. Cursing his car and everything mechanical, Stiles starts walking.

It’s only a couple minutes to Derek’s place, but it’s long enough for Stiles to start wondering if Derek will even help him. Derek hasn’t answered any of his calls or texts this past week, except to say that he thought it best he didn’t come to the pack’s holiday party.

Stiles still doesn’t know what happened between them. One minute he was trying to find a nice hotel for a weekend trip for just him and Derek, and the next Derek was saying he thought they should see other people.

Stiles is close to tears by the time he walks up the porch steps to Derek’s front door. He turns around, deciding it would be better to just wait by the car, after all,  but snowflakes have started dropping out of the sky in a steadily heavier downpour, and his car will be freezing by the time he gets back to it. Turning his back on the snow, Stiles knocks on Derek’s, three sharp knocks that sound almost deafening to his ears. He tries not to huddle in his coat as he waits for Derek to open up, wanting to look cool and collected, an effort to show Derek what he’s missing.

When Derek finally opens the door, Stiles has to swallow a sob. He’s missed that stupid face, with the stupid beard, and the stupid eyebrows, and the stupidly beautiful eyes. He blinks, taking a step back when his fingers twitch to reach out.

‘My car broke down,’ he blurts out. His voice sounds unsteady to his own ears. He hopes Derek thinks it’s from the cold.

Derek blinks, shaking his head a little, eyebrows slowly contracting.

‘And I dropped my phone.’ Stiles holds up his phone, showing the Derek the cracks spiderwebbing across the dark screen.

‘Right,’ Derek says tersely. His face goes blank and he takes a step back so Stiles can step inside. He then quickly turns around and walks back to the kitchen, leaving Stiles to close the door.

‘Thanks,’ Stiles mutters.

The downstairs of Derek’s home is one open space, with the exception of the bathroom, and Stiles finds himself searching for changes since he was last here—only a week ago, but it feels so much longer. The pictures of him and Derek are lying on the coffee table instead of standing on the mantle. The pillows on the couch have been rearranged and there’s a used mug and a cereal bowl on the table. A kitchen towel has been thrown over the back of a chair. They’re mostly small, almost insignificant, changes that happen by simply living, but those hurt more than those pictures lying facedown on the coffee table.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and turns to the phone on the side table by the door. There’s a list of emergency numbers next to it, the sheriff’s department, the fire department, towing service, the hospital, even Fish & Wildlife. Derek had made the list when he knew he had to work late and Stiles had been a little freaked out about being here alone for the first time, going over every little thing that could possible go wrong. It had been a joke, but it had helped to calm Stiles’ nerves.

Pushing the memory away, he punches in the number for the towing service. The lady on the other side of the line cheerfully tells him they can’t send someone now, they need to stay available for emergencies. Stiles tries to explain that his situation is a ginormous emergency, since he’ll probably die from the awkwardness between him and Derek or the weight of the memories that keep crashing into him, but the lady tuts and tells him to stay inside and call back when the storm’s blown over. Stiles hangs up and immediately calls his dad. Maybe there’s someone on patrol close by and they can give him a ride back to town. No such luck. Clarke isn’t too far away, but she needs to stay put to stop people from speeding on the slippery road into town.

Stiles sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, and hangs up. There’s no one else he can call. He hasn’t told anyone about him and Derek breaking up yet, hoping they’d make up in a couple days, and it’s not a conversation he wants to have over the phone.

Stiles loosens the scarf around his throat as he slowly approaches Derek, buying himself time to figure out what to say.

‘So…’ he starts. ‘Uhm…’

‘I heard,’ Derek says, his attention still on the pot he’s stirring in. ‘You can wait here. It’s fine.’

‘Are you sure? I can wait in my car,’ Stiles tries.

‘No. You can’t.’

Stiles knows Derek’s right, but he doesn’t want to stay. Being here is too painful and too comfortable at the same time, and the conflicting emotions are giving him a headache. Knowing Derek won’t let him leave in this weather, he nods at Derek’s back.

‘I’ll just go sit on the couch then.’

The next ten minutes are the most awkward of Stiles’ life. He’s literally sitting on his hands so he won’t grab a pillow and stuff his face in it to breathe in Derek’s scent. Derek is moving around his kitchen, cooking his dinner and seemingly oblivious to Stiles’ distress, though Stiles knows his heart and his scent must be giving away all kinds of emotions. They don’t talk. They don’t acknowledge each other’s presence in any way. That is, until Derek sets down a cup of hot tea in front of Stiles and grunts out, ‘Dinner will be ready in a couple minutes. And you should probably take off your coat.’

Before Stiles can fully process what is happening and thank him, Derek is already back in the kitchen.

Dinner is just as awkward as the fifteen minutes Stiles spent on the couch, if not more so. Derek made pasta, the kind that you only have to heat up. It’s not like him at all, but Stiles is too afraid to break the silence and ask why Derek gave in to cooking ready-made meals, and throw one of his “fresh is always better” lectures back at him. Guess neither of them is really themselves tonight.

‘Are you okay?’ Derek asks after a several minutes of both of them moving their food around their plates.

Stiles’ fork comes to a halt. Why does Derek ask him that? It’s obvious he’s not okay. He hasn’t shaved in almost a week, his eyes are puffy from lack of sleep and crying, his hair’s a mess from not combing it, his clothes are wrinkled, and probably a little smelly. Stiles is gonna tell him exactly how _not_ okay he is.

‘You said your car broke down. You didn’t get hurt, did you?’ Derek adds.

‘I’m fine,’ Stiles says, the genuine worry in Derek’s voice making him deflate a little, and goes back to moving his food around his plate.

‘Good,’ Derek whispers.

Stiles is pretty sure he’s not supposed to hear it, which is exactly why he explodes. ‘Is it?’ he bites out. ‘Is it good? Because from the way you’ve been actively ignoring and avoiding me, I’m a little surprised you care.’

‘I was just doing what we’d agreed upon,’ Derek bites back, standing up and all but throwing his plate in the sink.

‘No. You’re doing what you decided for us!’

‘You’re the one who said we should take a break!’

‘If a weekend at a hotel, just the two of us, is so daunting to you, you could’ve just told me! You didn’t have to break up with me!’

Derek stumbles back like he’s been punched. The blood drains from his face, and he grips the kitchen counter like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling over.

‘A weekend...’ he whispers, his voice breaking. A violent shiver runs through his entire body, and Stiles rushes around the table, helping Derek back into his chair before he really does fall over.

Derek leans his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. Stiles kneels in front of him, hands fluttering around Derek’s form, not sure what to do. Before, he would’ve pulled Derek in, wrapped him in his arms, made sure Derek wouldn’t fall apart, but he can’t do that now.

‘Derek?’ he asks softly, not wanting to spook the man.

Derek removes his hands from his face to look at Stiles. There are tears in his eyes, which are wide and scared.

‘I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m so sorry. I thought… When you said that… I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.’

‘You gotta finish you’re sentences, big guy.’

‘When you said you wanted us to take a break, I thought you–‘ Derek swallows and flicks his eyes down, away from Stiles’ gaze. ‘I thought you meant a break from us, from _me_.’

‘I meant from work and everything else,’ Stiles says. He feels numb. His mind is scrabbling to fit the events of the past week into this new perspective. ‘We’ve both been so busy lately and I wanted some time for just us.’

Derek reaches out a hand towards him, but then quickly pulls it back again.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ Stiles growls. He stands up and pulls Derek with him. He wraps his arms around the man, digs his fingers into Derek’s back, and buries his head in Derek’s shoulder. Derek hugs him back just as tightly, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ hair. Suddenly, the ridiculousness and sheer idiocy of it all hits him, and a giggle escapes him. Then another. Then he’s muffling his laughter in Derek’s neck.

‘Uhm, Stiles?’

‘I’ve been racking… my brain… this past week,’ Stiles pushes out between fits of laughter. ‘I couldn’t figure… out what happened… and it’s all just… some stupid… misunderstanding.’ He sags against Derek. ‘Is this what they… mean when they say… communication is… the cornerstone… of every relationship?’

‘Probably,’ Derek says, sounding amused.

Stiles lifts his head out of Derek’s shoulder. His vision is a little blurry from the tears in his eyes, but he can still make out the soft smile on Derek’s lips. He lifts his hand to touch it, almost reverently.

‘I’m really sorry, Stiles,’ Derek says again, he face going serious.

Stiles shakes his head and wipes the tears from his eyes. ‘It was a stupid misunderstanding.’

‘I should’ve talked to you about it. And the way I shut you out, that was not okay,’ Derek continues. ‘It won’t happen again. If you still want me.’

‘Of course I do.’ Stiles pulls back to shove lightly at Derek’s shoulder. ‘Why did you think I was so pissed when you suggested we see other people? I can’t even imagine wanting to be with anyone else.’

Derek pulls Stiles back against him and presses a kiss to the side of Stiles’ head. Stiles wants to stay here forever, but now that he’s no long worrying about him and Derek, no longer wondering what the hell happened, all the tension that kept him going drains out of him, and he realizes he’s completely exhausted. He tries to hide his yawn in Derek’s sweater, but by the way that Derek pulls back and smiles fondly and him, he didn’t do a very good job of it.

‘You want to start a fire?’ Derek asks. ‘I’ll go make some hot chocolate.’

‘Extra marshmallows?’

‘Double extra. We deserve them.’

Stiles lets go of Derek reluctantly, then darts in for a quick kiss before moving to the fire place. He stacks the blocks of wood like Derek taught him, then patiently waits for the fire to catch. When the fire is blazing merrily, he sets the screen in front of it and moves to the couch, where Derek joins him a couple minutes later.

They curl up against each other, barely sitting upright enough to drink their chocolate. Stiles looks out the window. The snow is still falling, and even more than before.

‘You think it’ll keep going like that?’ he asks Derek, nodding at the window. ‘We might get snowed in.’

‘If we’re lucky,’ Derek hums.

‘The luckiest,’ Stiles agrees, burrowing a little further into his boyfriend.


End file.
